Sea Turtles
by MaraudersFangirl
Summary: That night there was a mutiny. They marooned Jack on an island and left him to die, but not before he'd gone mad with the heat... Rated for violence, and a heck of a lotta rum!


**Sea Turtles**

This story begins with a strange thing, dear readers — a very sane Jack Sparrow. What? you say. How can that be possible? Jack has always been crazy, barmy as a bat. But that is not true, dear readers. For this is the tale of a Jack we do not know, the Captain of the _Black Pearl_ who has a perfect ship, a perfect crew, and a perfect First Mate, a Mister Barbossa. This is the tale of the night Captain Sparrow's perfect life went horribly wrong — and the night he was unwittingly saved from a terrible curse. Let us board the _Pearl_, shall we, my dear readers? Let us follow Jack Sparrow, and the surprising path he must soon choose...

_**Chapter 1: Mutiny**_

I stood at the helm of my beautiful, glorious ship, the _Black Pearl_. The wind blew my hair out of my face and gave me a glorious feeling of freedom. As I barked out orders, the crew behind me scuttled about on the deck, obeying the sea's every whim. I glanced behind and grinned. They were as eager to reach our destination as I was, though they didn't have the slightest idea where that was. In my own interest I had kept the bearings of our destination to myself. It wasn't that I didn't trust my crew; far from it. It was just I didn't trust myself to completely trust them, if that make sense. If it doesn't, then too bad; I'm not here to explain everything.

First Mate Barbossa came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. He was the perfect First Mate, the picture of obedience, and a better friend you couldn't have. He was honest, trustworthy, and pleasant to be around. Not to mention he was an absolute devil when it came to figuring out just what the sea demanded of our ship. Sometimes he was even more perceptive than I.

"The crew's getting a bit restless, Captain," he muttered at my shoulder. "They're saying you don't know which way you're headed, that you have no real bearings on this island of yours."

I frowned. This was the first I'd heard of any unrest; the crew seemed perfectly content to me. But I didn't say this to Barbossa. Perhaps I should have, now I come to think of it. I didn't, however. Instead, I put on my fiercest, most captain-ish face and barked, "Tell those seadogs I know exactly where we're going, Mr. Barbossa! I have the bearings right in here" — I tapped my forehead sagely — "and we're headed in the right direction. And remind them _I'm_ the captain here, and if they'd like to challenge that, they can do it to me face, savvy?"

Barbossa didn't move off to relay my orders. He hovered behind me, as if he were gathering the courage to say something else. I grew wary as the silence stretched on. "Have you anything more to say, First Mate Barbossa?" I snapped finally.

He seemed to grimace when I said this, but then immediately dropped a mask of cringing servility into place. "Yes sir, actually... It's just I happen to agree with 'em, Captain. Everything's an equal share, on this ship... as should be the location of the treasure. Not everyone is satisfied with following blindly. For all we know, you could be leading us straight into the arms of the king's navy. We'd like to know..."

I glanced behind and noticed with a shiver of apprehension that the rest of the crew had abandoned their posts to gather silently around me and Barbossa. He obviously hadn't been kidding. They all had black looks on their faces as they listened to our argument. I had a sense of foreboding and turned to face them all.

"Look, I know where we're going, I'm the captain after all, so why don't you just trust me and do what you're told, eh? I haven't got time for this —"

They looked at me without speaking. I tried to nonchalantly go back to steering the _Pearl_, but they simply stood there, silent and unmoving. "Oh, bugger," I muttered under my breath. They were really serious this time. They had attempted to get the coordinates from me several times along the way, but this was the first time they had really insisted.

I cleared my throat a few times, hoping they'd take the hint, but of course they didn't. Finally I turned back and said abruptly, "Fine, then, I'll give you the bloody coordinates, then you promise you'll lay off your little 'annoy-Captain-Sparrow-to-pieces' charade, will you?" I sighed and stomped off to my cabin. The crew followed in a mass, Barbossa in the lead.

A half-hour later I'd given up the bearings for our destination. The entire crew, minus a few stragglers who'd had the presence of mind to watch the ship, filed out of my cabin in considerably higher spirits than before, but I was left feeling very stunned. What had just happened? The crew had, for the first time in memory, directly disobeyed my orders. All for a few latitudes and numbers on a map. What had just happened? I knew we all wanted to get to the Isla de Muerta, but enough to do something so drastic? Mutiny was close on my mind, but I wasn't prepared to embrace that possibility just yet.

By certain means I had uncovered the existence of a fabulous treasure, buried on a mysterious "Isla de Muerta." The island was fabled to be impossible to find except by those who already knew where it was. I took this rumor as a challenge, and had gone straight to work searching for the island.

The treasure was supposedly about two hundred pieces of gold that had belonged to the bloodthirsty conqueror Hernando Cortes himself. Aztec gold, to be more specific. They were rumored to be kept in a huge gold chest, surrounded by hundreds of other priceless artifacts. The gold itself was also said to be terribly cursed by the heathen gods of the Aztecs; but being a fairly reasonable man I dismissed this information as false rumors, gossip, nothing more. I was too eager to get my hands on that gold.

The crew was involved too, of course. They would each get an equal share of the treasure, though secretly I planned to take far more than my rightful share. I was a pirate after all; surely they wouldn't expect me to do everything fairly! But did they suspect already?

I was paranoid for the rest of the day. I was constantly checking behind me. I heard whispers behind my back whenever I turned around. I was sure something was coming, but just what I couldn't be sure. I knew something would happen; the feeling of unrest was still present on the _Pearl_, even though the crew now knew exactly where we were going. Something was happening to my ship.

I fell asleep that night several hours after I had retired to my cabin. I had a very fitful sleep, as my dreams were haunted by mutinous crewmen and tentacles and quite a few headless Jacks. After a particularly nasty nightmare involving rope and a cannon I woke up. I had no idea why; I just did. At first I thought it was just the dream that had woken me, but then I heard a loud noise right outside my door. A sound I was quite familiar with, actually.

Gunshots.

I jumped out of my cot — already fully dressed — and took a swig of rum from the bottle on my bedside drawer (to wake myself up quickly, you understand). I then grabbed my sword belt, pistol, and hat, and rushed out of the cramped quarters. A sailor who looked a bit like one of my mast men fell at my feet when I opened the door. It was hard to tell just who he was; the blood flowing from a gunshot wound to his chest drew my attention away from his face very quickly. I forced myself to look up, and to my horror I saw three-quarters of my crew racing down the aisle toward my, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. Barbossa, the First Mate I'd considered my friend, led them.

My heart sank even as I slammed my door shut and bolted it twice. The mutineers — for I was certain that was what they were — had slaughtered all my loyal crew. I was alone. And now I had stupidly trapped myself in my own cabin. Brilliant, Jack, I berated myself. Just had to make it easier for them, did you? Now you're sure to be either shot, blown to bits, or marooned. As I sat back on my bed and took another calming draught of rum, I considered these options. Which was the worst? Being dead would be a large deterrent, of course, but I'd die soon on some deserted island anyway.

I finished the bottle, but felt no more above everything than I had five minutes ago. So I waited. And waited.

A minute later, I heard hushed voices outside my door. Then, suddenly, the wooden door was blasted open. There they all stood, the bloody traitors, waiting for me to make a move. So, not wanting to disappoint them, I did.

I drew my longsword and pistol in a flash of motion. Before they knew what was happening, I managed to wound three of them with my pistol and run one through with the sword. Then, they closed in and relieved me of my weapons. By this time I was so angry I was nearly frothing at the mouth, especially when I was brought through the crowd to face Barbossa.

"Well, well, well," he said slowly. "I have to admit, Jack, I wasn't expecting you to be this lethal while half-asleep. I'm told you killed at least three of me best men when they tried to bring you in. I must say you didn't become captain for nothing. But..." He hoisted my weapons and hat, which I must have dropped in the fight. "You won't be captain very much longer, I'm afraid. You're finished, Jack." He held up my sword like it was a trophy and wandered back through the throng of pirates.

I spat at the mark his boots had made in the dirty floor.

They carried me away after tying my hands together in front of me. I was escorted (not very gently, unfortunately) to a certain edge of the deck. My heart sank as I recognized the spot, and the plank of wood stretched out over the water. No, I wasn't going to be shot or blown to pieces; it was the plank for me. I had discharged many a sailor over that wooden beam, and now I was about to get an unwelcome taste of my own medicine.

Barbossa himself jabbed me to the plank, the traitor. I stood perched precariously on the end, my sense of balance lost without my hands. Barbossa looked at me from the safety of the ship's railing. He smiled nastily; what with all his gold teeth and rotted gums, it wasn't a pretty sight. "Well, _Captain,_ I suppose this is the end of your rope." He chuckled at the pun. The crew instantly did the same, like the mutinous mockingbirds I now knew they were. I scowled fiercely at them, but since I was the one trussed up at the edge of a plank, they weren't cowed.

Barbossa continued, "'Tis a pity, Jack, it really is. We were perfectly satisfied with your leading us straight to the treasure, you know, but you got in the way. Mutiny was surprisingly easy to organize; almost the whole crew felt you were slipping. This is the best way — not necessarily for you, of course, but... well... I think 'Captain Barbossa' has a nice ring to it, don't you?" He laughed again, then showed me my hat, sword, and an unfamiliar pistol. He threw all three bundled together into the water. They sank like a stone. "One shot in that pistol," Barbossa said, somewhat regretfully. "Not much use; it would be so much more of a pleasure for me to give you a pistol with _no_ bullets, but that'd be a terrible waste of a good gun, and the Code is clear." He stepped back and turned away. "Your marooning island is just off to starboard. Have a nice swim, Jack Sparrow!"

I stared coldly at his back, then remembered: There's only so long a pistol will stay underwater without breaking. Not to mention my poor hat. I turned to face the open sea again. Off in the distance I could see a tiny island, which was presumably the one I was supposed to swim for. My rage boiled and finally broke over. "Goodbye, _First Mate_ Barbossa," I said, as scathingly as I could. Then I stuck one foot out and plunged into the crystal depths of the Caribbean.


End file.
